Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1267348.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Public_Sex, Sam_In_Panties, Panties, Feminization, Nipple
      Play, Barebacking, Lingerie, Belly_Bulge_Kink, Exhibitionism, Seductive
      Sammy, Weechesters, Gun_Oil_For_Lube, Rough_Sex, Weecest
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-04 Words: 6237
****** Honeyboy ******
by dollylux
Summary
     While John's running an errand in the backwoods in Louisiana, Sam
     finds a way to keep Dean occupied. (Sex kitten!Sammy and trying-so-
     hard-to-be-good-in-public-and-failing!Dean.)
     For my sweetest girl on her birthday. Happy birthday, Leslie! <3
Notes
     For_near-future_reference. (Slightly NSFW but CLICK ON IT.)
See the end of the work for more notes
Billy’s Bait and Ammo.
The sonuvabitch isn’t even named Billy, which is pretty funny. His name is
Buford, but Billy just fit better on the sign. So Billy’s, it is. Not like
anybody’s gonna come asking for a business license any time soon. The little
shack is lost in the swamps of Dixie Inn, Louisiana, about twenty miles east of
Shreveport. It’s a place that Dad wants to swing by every time they’re within a
hundred miles of it because Buford has tons of ammo on the cheap and doesn’t
ask Dad a lot of questions.
Dean squints into the high noon sun as he climbs out of the car, his clothes
already sticking to him. Nobody’s got any business visiting Louisiana in the
summer, not when they can voluntarily be anywhere else. But nobody else’s dad
is as stubborn as Dean Winchester’s is.
“You boys better behave in here,” Dad says as he slams the car door, hand
coming up to wipe the sweat dripping from his forehead. Like he and Sam are
kids. Like they’re going to try and liberate all the worms from the bait cooler
back into the sad excuse for swampy mud surrounding the ammo shop. They haven’t
done that in at least six years.
“Yessir,” Dean mumbles back, always obedient even if he isn’t all that happy
about it. Dad’s already on his way up to the screen door when Dean turns his
attention back to the car, to the back seat where Sam lives in between motels.
Sam’s still lounging in the backseat, head pillowed on Dean’s black jacket,
long, coltish legs stretched across the vinyl seat, dirty-socked feet crossed
at the ankle on the ledge of the rolled-down window. He has headphones on, his
eyes closed, and one tan hand spread across an equally sun-darkened stomach.
Dean groans inwardly, his eyes slipping closed.
“Sammy,” he grits out, trying to sound casual and a little annoyed but it comes
out hungry, like a starved dog spying a scrap of meat. Dean leans against the
car, the frame squeaking on its hinges a little but his dick has a warm car
door to nestle up against while he stares in at his sex-kitten of a brother.
“Hey, man, c’mon. Dad’s already inside. They got that cream soda in here you
like, ‘member?”
Sam’s long eyelashes flutter but he doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t act like
he’s heard Dean otherwise. Dean sighs, glancing over at the quiet shack, at the
cracked open door, making sure he can’t see his dad or Buford before he reaches
into the open car window and grasps one of Sam’s feet, hands cupping it firm
and strong, thumbs running right up along the arch.
Sam’s back bows up a little, hips rocking and it just makes his pathetic excuse
for a t-shirt ride up even more. He lets out a low, pleased little hum, foot
stretching and preening under the attention from Dean’s knowing hands, his toes
pointing at Dean when Dean strokes over the top of his foot, hating the sock in
the way. Sam still doesn’t open his eyes.
“Sammy, baby,” Dean croons, a gravely, seductive little song. “C’mon. Don’t
torment me like this. Look so pretty layin’ there.” He grabs the toe of Sam’s
sock and tugs on it, yanking until it comes off. He expects to see bare little
Sammy toes but he doesn’t. His foot’s covered, hidden under red nylon, toes
crowded together, almost demure looking. Dean’s eyes narrow, his dick giving an
almost painful throb in his jeans and he digs up even harder against the car.
“What the fuck is this?” It’s a growl, a dangerous sound, and he’s practically
clutching Sam’s foot now. Sam smiles, reacting finally, and those eyes open up
like he’s in a porno, dirty, cat-like slits of mood ring colors and his still-
chubby cheeks fatten under his little smile, his caught-the-canary smile.
“Present for you,” he sighs out, lowering his other foot to the seat to help
push down further, closer to Dean, red-stockinged foot coming even closer. “Do
you like it?”
It’s too much. He sounds too fuck-drenched, too slutty to be a fifteen-year-old
boy, but Dean knows better. Knows that Sam loves to be treated like he’s
nothing but a hole, like he’s a pretty little slit for Dean to fuck up into
wherever he wants. Loves Dean’s eyes on him like this, just like this, like
he’s about five seconds away from spreading Sam’s legs and plunging his dick
in. Which he is.
Dean moans, an aching mmmm, pulling that foot until it’s resting on the low
flat of his stomach, right above the button of his jeans. Dean rocks his hips
up, trying to get the heel of Sam’s foot closer to his dick but the car door’s
too high and his legs are too short. He looks back again at the shop and then
at Sam. Shoves Sam’s foot back inside the car and yanks the door open. Climbs
in and right in between Sam’s legs and gasps when their dicks ride tight
together as he settles down heavy on top of his little brother.
“What’re you doin’? Hmm?” He grabs a handful of Sam’s hair and yanks his head
back, mouth latching onto his sweaty neck. He sucks at the salty grit there,
sucking so hard that Sam whimpers. “You been wearin’ these all day? With Dad
around? Tryin’ to get me in trouble? Hmm, Sammy?”
“Not just-” Sam gasps against Dean’s ear, his hands all over Dean, clutching at
his back, his head, his ass. “Not just stockings. It’s--”
“Boys, you get lost?” Dad’s voice echoes off the woods around them and they
both freeze, eyes finding each other for a split second before Dean scrambles
off of Sam and onto the floorboard, dick so hard in his jeans that he’s having
trouble breathing. Sam flies up, yanking his sock back on and pulling his
Chucks onto his feet.
“Sorry, Dad! I was feeling a little sick to my stomach. I just needed a
minute.”
Dean stays where he is, his eyes on Sam’s legs where they’re spread almost in
front of him, on the tent at the front of his jeans. “Fuck, Sammy,” he
whispers, reaching up for those thighs but Sam’s opening the car door, legs
swinging to the side as he slides out.
“Where’s Dean?” Dad’s still up on the porch, probably leaning out the door, and
Dean relaxes a little for that. Sam’s feet crunch on the gravel and Dean
watches from his hiding place as Sam pulls his tight t-shirt down.
“Went to take a leak in the woods. We’ll be in in a sec.”
Dean waits for a few seconds after he hears the screen door smack back against
the frame before he moves. He slithers out of the floorboard as gracefully as
he can and climbs out of the car, the air around them thick as soup,
suffocating and making it hard for Dean to suck in a full breath. He pushes the
car door shut and turns to see Sam leaning back against the trunk, that damn
shirt riding up again, eyes right on Dean, always on Dean.
Dean closes in on him, trusting the bulk of the car to hide them from Dad as he
pins Sam right against the car, dick pressed right up against his sweet little
teenage boy ass. Sam grunts and arches his back, hands smacking down on the
closed trunk to hold himself up. Dean snuffles through the back of Sam’s hair
and down to the side of his neck where he licks in some hungry kisses, his
hands on Sam’s bony hipbones, fingers digging in hard just like they do when
they’re alone at night in a motel room and Dean’s gettin’ Sam from behind,
fucking him hard and fast like they’re feral, like they’re breeding.
“What were you sayin’? Not just stockings?” Dean lifts his eyes to the door and
he sees Dad’s shadow as he passes by. Dean pulls back, fear shattering how sexy
he felt not five seconds ago. He pulls back from Sam and tries to shake it off,
tries to calm down.
“Maybe, uh. Maybe we should get on inside. Dad’s--”
Sam’s hands are hidden from Dean, working at the front of his own jeans. Dean
can only watch as the waist of Sam’s jeans loosen, the whisper of his zipper
flitting by and then the jeans are slipping down, sliding sliding until Dean
sees red. Red lace. Covering the very top of Sam’s ass in a small horizontal
strip only to disappear again, showing off bare, pale ass. Naked, pretty,
jailbait boy butt. Dean’s fucking favorite thing in the universe.
“Oh, goddamn.” Dean really can’t breathe now, can’t suck in even a drop of the
swampy air. He’s dazed, struck dumb and so it’s easy for Sam to reach back for
him and pull Dean’s arms back around him, pull Dean flush up against his back.
Dean presses his nose into Sam’s hair and sucks in a deep breath as Sam slides
Dean’s hands down over his own stomach, down over the front of those slutty,
lacy red panties and down into the hot trap of his jeans to feel the rest.
“It’s called a garter belt,” Sam whispers, spreading his legs a little as
Dean’s hands come to life and get greedy, fingers pressing hard into still-
supple skin, digging into between Sam’s soft thighs in the tight trap of his
jeans. “It’s got straps that hold the stockings up. See?”
Sam’s hands push down over top of Dean’s and they both rub at Sam’s body, at
his lace-covered pink dick and balls and down the front of his thighs. Sam
nudges Dean’s fingers around until they’re stroking over the little strips of
elastic attached to the tops of the nylon stockings. “Fuck, Sammy. Fuck.”
Dean digs his hips back in with a rough snap, not really feeling the scratch of
the lace through his own jeans but fuck he wants to, wants to get right in
there, to come in that cherry-sweet ass and ruin Sam’s pretty red panties.
“Want you to fuck me in them,” Sam’s saying in a breathless little gasp, his
ass a warm, plush thing for Dean to grind against. “Want you to fuck me right
here. Fuck my pussy, Dean.”
“God, Sammy, don’t fuckin’ say that.” Dean growls low in his chest, one hand
sliding up to brace on Sam’s flat stomach while the other fingers the top of
one of the stockings. “We gotta stop. Gotta get inside. Dad’s gonna come out
here. He’s gonna see us.”
“Don’t care,” Sam sighs, rubbing back slow and firm on Dean’s dick, just like
he knows Dean loves it. “Don’t care who sees, I just need it. Please, Dean, I
need your dick. Please.”
“Gotta stop, babe. C’mon, we gotta stop.” Dean kisses the side of Sam’s neck,
kisses up to his earlobe and giving that a brief suck before he steels himself
and pulls back, back from Sam’s willing little body and all that temptation.
His face is flushed and his dick could punch through walls but he escaped.
Sam sighs, small and suffering. He turns around to face Dean, swollen lips in a
full little brother pout as he tugs his jeans up again, making a show of
fastening and zipping them up. His long hair is a mess, all in the wrong place
and falling in sweaty strands across his face. His cheeks are pink, pupils
blown, fat little dick hard in his pants. When Dean swallows, the sound is
embarrassingly loud between them.
Sammy pushes himself away from the car and shuffles toward the shop, Dean
following like an obedient little puppy, if only so he can keep an eye on Sam’s
ass, now that he knows what’s under those dirty jeans.
“There’s ‘em boys, Johnny! Ain’t dat Sammy? Da’sa big boy he’s a-turnin’ into,
idn’t he?” Buford is holding the door open for Sam like they’re royalty, and
Dean rubs a hand over his face, trying to focus on this like it’s a job, like
he can’t afford to be distracted. Like he can’t still feel Sam’s lace panties
against his fingertips.
Sam smiles at Buford, a shy little smile that he can still get away with. “You
still have cream soda?”
Buford’s scruffy red face lights up, like Sam’s still a sweet little boy whose
every word is just the cutest thing.
“Right over in da cooler next to da bait, Sammy, just like always.”
Sam just grins and hurries over to the cooler, opening it up in a tiny blast of
cool air. Dean sidles up beside Sam, their bare arms touching and it sends a
shiver up Dean’s spine, racheting his temperature up even hotter. Sam glances
over at him, a quick flick of those knowing eyes and his pretty mouth tugs into
a smirk.
“Want a root beer, Dean? I’ll open it for you on the bottle opener.”
Dean clears his throat, eyes darting over to Dad and Buford talking over a
shotgun a few feet away. His hand twitches, needing to touch Sam. Needing it.
His skinny little waist, his pretty tits, his hole that’s surely tightened up
in the two days it’s been since Dean fucked it.
“Uh. Sure. Thanks, Sam.”
He strides across the shop and stands in front of the rickety old fan on the
wooden counter, eyes closing as the stale warm air hits his face. Sam is going
to be the fucking death of them.
“Dean, you two hang out in here for awhile. Me’n Buford are gonna go test out
this thing out back.” Dad’s got a box of shotgun shells and Buford’s already
out the back door and Dean whips his head around to meet Dad’s eyes, so
grateful that they’re leaving that he could cry.
“Yeah. Sure thing, Dad. We’ll just, uh. Alphabetize the worms.”
Dad rolls his eyes but leaves instead of replying, and Dean can’t help but
grin. The back door stays propped open by a cement block, letting in the
smallest strain of a breeze. Dean whirls around, eyes zeroing in on Sam who is
standing in front of the old bottle opener on the side of the counter, eyes
narrowed and focused as he pops the top of his drink first and then Dean’s.
He glances up and flushes a little when he finds Dean’s eyes on him. He holds
the root beer up like a peace offering, and Dean can’t help but make his way
toward him, their fingers slipping together over the sweaty glass bottle. Dean
holds the soda by the neck at his side, not giving a shit about it because
Sam’s lifting his own to his lips and drinking it like it’s water, a couple
drops of the vanilla-honey soda dripping down the side of his mouth.
Dean sets his drink on the counter and catches Sam around the waist with one
arm, the other reaching up to take Sam’s bottle away so he can press his tongue
to Sammy’s chin and lick up toward his mouth, catching those sweet drops and
chasing the taste past Sam’s lips.
Sam hums against Dean’s mouth, his fingers curling into the thin cotton of
Dean’s Van Halen shirt, pulling it tight across his chest as he holds on.
“Gonna fuck me, Dean? I’ll show you how it looks without my pants on.”
Dean digs his forehead against Sam’s, licking kisses into that filthy, pliable
mouth. He reaches around and grabs two handfuls of that ass, hauling Sam up
tight against him and making him slosh a little of his cream soda onto the
floor.
“Can’t do that here and you know it. You fuckin’ tease. Know I want in that
ass. Fuckin’ need it, Sammy.” He pulls Sam up even tighter on his body,
practically lifting him off the ground with his grip on Sam’s ass.
“Yeah? I’ll let you. I’ll let you, Dean. Right now. Do me bare right here.
Plenty of gun oil for lube.” Sam’s hands are between them, suddenly free of the
bottle and unbuttoning Dean’s jeans. Dean pulls his hips away when Sam starts
to work at his zipper, his bottom lip caught between Sam’s teeth and coming
back to him soaking wet when Sam lets go of it.
“Tonight,” he manages to pant, his eyes falling closed to compose himself, so
he doesn’t have to look at Sam as he fastens his pants back. “Tonight, when Dad
leaves for Houston. We. We--”
“C’mere, Dean,” Sam murmurs, grabbing Dean by the belt loops and pulling him
away from the eyeline of the door, tugging him behind the counter and to the
dark, tiny room in the back that serves as the break room and office but just
consists of an industrial sink, a cluttered wooden table, and a garbage can
full of beer cans and beef jerky wrappers. There’s a TV on the table, a small
black and white one that used to work when they were younger but not anymore.
A gunshot blasts in from outside through the thin wall between them and Dad and
Buford, through the open window over the table. Sam reaches over and flips the
light switch, a single, dingy bulb buzzing on overhead. He closes the door and
leans back against it, his eyes on Dean as he lifts up his shirt, pulling it up
high enough to reveal the dusty pink of his nipples.
“Suck on my tits, Dean. They ache.”
“Sammy,” Dean whispers, a sound so scraped raw that it hurts his throat. His
heart is pounding in his chest, sweat beading along his hairline and dripping
from his armpits down his flanks. He stares at Sam’s little tits, at those
nipples that are so soft and puffy and young, that melt like fucking sugar
under Dean’s tongue, have since Sam was twelve and begging Dean just like he is
now.
“Just real quick. Just make ‘em feel better.” Sam reaches up and twists one
between his thumb and forefinger, twists it brutally hard and pulls on it
before letting it go, leaving it angry red and even puffier than before. A
feral sound rumbles low in Dean’s chest, vibrating in the sticky air as he
takes the two steps between them and wraps his arms around Sam’s waist, yanking
him up against him.
“Be fucking quiet, Sammy, I swear to God,” he whispers before he sucks that
rubbed-warm nipple into his mouth, pulling it in hard and nursing on it
immediately. Sam’s entire body goes rigid against him, straining to get up even
deeper into Dean’s mouth.
“Dean. Dean. Shit.” Sam wraps one leg around Dean’s waist, hopping once to get
enough leverage to get the other one up and then he’s off the ground, wrapped
around Dean and holding on tight, his tits right on level with Dean’s mouth and
it’s fucking perfect.
“Too pretty to be beggin’, babe.” Dean runs his tongue in a firm circle over
and over before biting into that raw, slippery nipple, tugging it hard away
from Sam’s body before letting it go and going back to do it all over again. He
gnaws on it until it’s got to be hurting, until it’s almost bitten through and
bleeding and Sam is shaking against him, his heart beating rabbit-fast under
Dean’s mouth.
“Get the other one. Dean, please. Do the other one, too.” Sam’s voice is
shaking, arms wrapped tight around Dean’s head, cradling him and keeping him
right where he is.
“Feed it to me, Sammy. Put it in my mouth,” he mumbles against that chewed-raw
skin, giving it one last suck before moving over to the other side. He lifts
his eyes and stares at Sam through his lashes, watching his ruined pink mouth
shivering as Sam pants, as he gets a hand from around Dean’s neck and cups his
own neglected little boytit, fingers closing around his nipple to get a hold on
it. He arches closer to Dean, his shirt slipping down and Dean shoves it up
impatiently, eyes lower to the pretty skin Sam is offering him.
He lets his tongue slide out to touch it first and Sam strangles out a gasp,
legs tightening as he ruts against Dean. “Suck it, Dean. Suck it suck it suck
it, please.”
Dean flicks his tongue against it, tasting Sam’s dirty fingers before Sam lets
go and Dean gets his mouth all around that nipple, giving a satisfied grunt as
he starts to suck on it hard.
“Yeah,” Sam sighs, head falling back against the door, entire body relaxing as
he strokes Dean’s hair. “Just like that.”
Dean moves his hands lower until he can cup Sam’s ass, bringing Sam’s body
weight down against his dick so he can grind up against it. The shots go on
outside from time to time, interrupted by the swampy twang of Buford’s voice
and Dad’s lazy rumble. He could come just like this, sucking on Sam’s pretty
tits and grinding up against his tight little butt.
But Sam always wants more.
He feels Sam slip down from his body, hears his Chucks hit the dirty floor.
Dean opens his eyes and stares down at him, licking his own bruised mouth.
Sam’s nipples are swollen, puffy and bruised red and well-sucked, just like Sam
likes them.
Dean pushes a hand down against his own dick, grabbing it through his jeans and
giving it a hard rub, trying to ease some of the painful ache. Sam keeps his
eyes on Dean as he undoes his jeans again, kicking his shoes off as he does.
Dean sighs, his dick twitching because it knows what’s about to happen no
matter how much he’s about to protest.
“Sammy, we can’t.” His voice is low, soft, because anything louder could
possibly be heard outside, especially when they’re not talking out there. “We
can wait. We can just--”
Sam’s jeans hit the floor in a thunk of denim, and Dean finally, finally gets
the full picture.
Sam’s got the prettiest little body, such a tight, supple thing, stomach as
flat and sweet as any cheerleader’s, his belly button winking just above the
scarlet lace stretching across his hips. It’s like a tiny, tiny skirt with
slits cut out of the sides, showing off the silky skin on the outsides of Sam’s
thighs, the whole thing carefully covering Sam’s dick, just barely showing the
shadowed curve of his balls.
The straps slink down Sam’s thighs and hook to the stockings that cover up the
rest of Sam’s legs that look like they’re an honest to god mile long in those
things. Sam’s stepping out of the jeans and toeing off the socks, only his
black t-shirt left, rucked up under his arms.
Nobody’s ever worn shit like this for Dean. Nobody. Girls wear cute panties.
Sam wears cuter panties. They’ve never had a place to get something like this,
and nowhere to really hide it from Dad, or so Dean thought. But Sammy, his
sneaky, beautiful little brother, has managed to get his hands on fucking
lingerie to wear for him and hide it from everyone.
“Wanted to be pretty for you. I saw the color and it was just so. I just wanted
to wear it for you.” Sam’s somehow managing to look all shy in that get-up, his
cheeks pink, eyes lowered under the dark fan of his eyelashes.
“Turn around, beautiful,” Dean says quietly, making sure his voice is soft
enough not to carry. He flicks the button open on his jeans. “Show me that
ass.”
Sam flushes even deeper at that, the doubt leaving his face, all the hungry
eagerness back. He kicks the jeans away and turns around slowly, making sure
Dean sees every inch of bare and barely-covered skin, showing him all of it
until he’s face against the door, back arched like a porn star’s, ass offered
up like a feast in those fucking pretty panties.
“What do you want, Sam?” Dean licks his lips, eyes narrowed on the soft curve
of Sam’s ass. He’s been inside of it hundreds of times, he’s spanked it raw,
had his tongue inside of it, sucked that hole until Sam cried, fingered it
until it was loose and pliant, left load after load after load of come inside.
Because it belongs to him.
He hears Dad’s laugh outside, hears them load the gun again, the click of the
barrel locking into place. Dean thumbs his zipper down and reaches out to rub a
calloused hand over the butter-soft skin between strips of lace on Sam’s ass.
“Want you to fuck me until I come.” It’s a simple request, a selfish one. And
Sam deserves it. Got so pretty for Dean, is giving him this, always gives Dean
his warm, tight body whenever Dean wants it, even if it’s in the middle of
class at school and Dean’s strung out, needing a fix. Dean can return the
favor.
“If I do,” Dean starts, reaching into his jeans and pulling out his dick,
feeling it pulse hot against his palm, so hungry for where it’s about to go,
“You gotta promise me you’ll be quiet. Can’t make a sound, Sammy.”
There’s a almost empty bottle of gun oil on the table, and Dean snatches it up
and empties it on top of his dick, slicking it up as fast as he can.
Sam whines when he hears the sound, legs spreading, ass pushing toward Dean.
“Promise. Promise, Dean, I promise. Please.”
Dean tosses the bottle toward the trash, hearing it hit some of the bottles and
making them shift. He reaches out and grabs Sam’s hip with his left hand, the
right one still jacking his dick. He pushes Sam flush up against the door and
crowds in against him.
He yanks Sam’s shirt over his head and pulls it down Sam’s arms until Sam has
no choice but to go with it, arms behind his back, trapped there by the shirt.
Dean twists a fist into the cotton of the shirt, making sure Sam can’t move. He
pushes his dick against Sam’s ass, sliding the fat head of it over the scratchy
lace, and it sends a shiver all through him, making his fucking balls tingle.
Slick oozes out of his dick and seeps into the fabric and Sam whimpers, pushing
back against him as best as he can.
“Don’t waste it, Dean. Put it in me. Please.” Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s
whispering as quiet as he can, his whole body splotched with red, shining with
sweat. Dean moans, pressing his face into the wild mess of Sam’s hair, using
his thumb to shove the underwear aside enough to nudge his dick between Sam’s
cheeks.
His hole is pulled into a tight, unused pucker, damp with lube from the inside,
like Sam already got himself ready hours ago, back in that motel room in
Tupelo, Mississippi, like he’s been waiting for this all fucking day.
“Goddamnit, boy. Goddamnit. Wanna fuckin’ eat you alive.” Dean grips his dick
tight and pushes, popping inside of that sweet little asshole and he wastes no
time in shoving in all the way, hesitation be damned.
Sam’s hands flutter uselessly at the small of his own back, held fast by the
shirt and Dean’s fist. He bites into his lips, his little shoulders heaving as
he breathes hard through his nose. Dean hooks his thumb into the panties to
hold them aside, planting his feet firm on the ground so he can dig in root-
deep.
“This what you want?” he grits out, giving a hard shove with his hips to make
sure he’s lodged in as deep as he can get. Sam nods frantically, his hands
working together to pull Dean’s shirt up, his fingers smoothing over Dean’s
bare stomach, rubbing at the trail of pale gold hair above his dick.
Worshipping him.
“Make me come, Dean, make me come. Fuck me.”
Dean frees up both of his hands to grab onto Sam’s hips, rearing him back on
his dick as he starts to pound into him, the sound dampened in the small room.
Sam’s mouth is wide open, a scream caught in his throat, his head thrown back
as he just takes it.
“Dirty little bitch, Sammy. Fuckin’ love you, baby. Feel so fuckin’ good for
me.” He lets go of one hip and runs a hand over Sam’s stomach, pressing in hard
with his fingers until he can feel the push of the head of his dick against
them inside of Sam.
“Jesus Christ, Dean. Ohmygod, I can feel. I-I, yes. Yes, yes, fuck, keep doin’
that. God, please.”
Dean growls, tips his hips up and angles in deeper to fuck straight into him,
in toward his belly button and presses into Sam’s stomach hard enough with his
fingers to bruise the skin but he can feel his own dick even more clearly now,
feel the thrust of it against his fingertips and Sam is shaking against him,
his hands trying to twist around and hold onto Dean somehow.
“Sammy, shhh. Baby, you gotta be quiet. Be quiet for me.” He runs his hands up
Sam’s body and cups his little tits, rubbing at his hurt nipples, trying to
focus on not coming, not just spilling into the hot clutch of Sam’s sweet body,
trying not to be selfish but fuck, he feels so fucking good.
It’s quiet outside now, nobody talking and Dean takes a deep breath, hips
halting, dick lodged up inside of Sam. He throbs there, balls hanging heavy and
full and Sam’s hole pulls at him, contracting hard, greedy to be fucked again.
“Hold on. Don’t know where they are,” he whispers in Sam’s ear, kissing down
his neck, at his fluttering pulse, licking up the lines of sweat dripping from
his hair, plucking over and over at the stiff points of Sam’s nipples.
“Dean, please--”
“Shh. Shh, baby, hold on. Fuck.” Sam’s ass milks him, tight and hungry and Dean
grits his teeth, forehead pressed to the nape of Sam’s neck. “God, stop doin’
that.”
“Let me come, Dean,” Sam pants, hands once again rubbing at Dean’s stomach
between their bodies, his arms twisted uncomfortably, caught. “I can come like
this. Just. Just.”
“Need me to..?” Dean lets go of one nipple to slide a hand between Sam’s legs,
catching the hot line of his dick in those lace panties and giving it a
squeeze. Sam shudders, thighs drawing together as he grinds back on Dean’s
dick. He shakes his head, sweat flying as he does.
“No. No, wanna come just on your dick. Just. Just do what you were doing. Touch
my. M-my. Just. Do what you were--”
“Like this?” Hands back under Sam’s shirt, thumbs and forefingers coming
together to twist and torture at Sam’s hurting little nipples, pulling them
hard away from his body and pinching them until Sam whimpers.
Sam nods again, tears slicking his cheeks and he starts to work himself on
Dean’s dick, grinding on the length of it thick and rock hard inside of him.
Dean wants to talk him through it, wants to lick filthy words into his skin and
kiss his pretty mouth but he can’t, not here, can’t do anything but stay still
and grind, dig in deep and milk Sam’s little tits.
“God, Sammy, hurry. Fuck, I’m gonna come if you don’t.”
“No, just keep going. Keep going, feels so good.” Sam’s moving now, fucking
back against him in little bounces of his sweet ass, his eyebrows drawn in
concentration. “Keep going keep going keep going, Dean. Dean, Dean, fuck--”
Dean’s fucking him again, can’t help it, spreading his legs a little and
pounding up into him, right into his prostate, mouth latched onto the top of
Sam’s spine, sucking hard to keep from saying anything, from being any louder
than they’re already being.
He knows when Sam starts to come because that ass gets even tighter and Sam is
shaking hard against him, around him, little butt jiggling against his hips,
chest heaving against his arms. Dean shoves in hard, giving a couple more rough
fucks through Sam’s contracting little hole before he has to lock in, dick
jumping hard inside of his boy as he starts to unload, feeding him spurt after
thick spurt.
They shove against each other for a few more precious seconds, trying to draw
out every single second of this, wringing out every last drop before they
finally stop, trembling and boneless together. Dean sighs, his dick still
pulsing inside of Sam, empty with nothing else to give but knowing that it’s
exactly where it’s meant to be. He cranes his neck just as Sam looks back at
him and their mouths meet in perfect unison, hot breath panted inside of each
other but it’s perfection, dirty and bone-shatteringly intimate.
“So good, Sammy. Perfect.” Dean’s bottom lip catches on Sam’s top one, a slow,
melting slide before their tongues touch again.
“Boys?”
The knock on the door comes right against Sam’s cheek, and they both freeze.
Dean yanks Sam back away from the door in absolute silence, his dick sliding
free and he shoves it back inside of his pants, ignoring the aching loss of
being inside of Sam and zipping himself back up.
“Yeah, Dad?” Dean manages to sound as casual as possible, watching Sam pull his
jeans back on as fast as he can.
“What the hell are you two doin’ in Buford’s office?”
“Uh. Changing?” Dean meets Sam’s eyes and shrugs before he moves his hands
between them and somehow Sam gets it. They pull their shirts off at the same
time, tossing them at each other and pulling them over their heads.
“Why are you changing in the office? There’s a bathroom, you know.” Dad sounds
annoyed now, suspicious. Dean watches the doorknob start to turn. Sam’s feet
are shoved back into his shoes and he’s pushing his hair out of his face and
behind his ears, and Dean can tell he’s trying not to look like he’s got come
leaking out of his ass and sticking to his dick in his red panties.
“Oh, the, um. The light wouldn’t come on in the bathroom.”
“Aw, damn. I meaned ta change that bulb las’ week. Sorry, boys.”
Dean finally opens the door and finds himself face-to-face with his glaring
father and Buford who actually looks apologetic. Dad’s looking them over,
eyeing Sam’s flushed cheeks and Dean’s blown pupils.
Buford putters off, mumbling about a light bulb and Sam puts on his best little
boy smile for Dad.
“I really do have to pee. Can I go before we leave?”
Dad sighs and steps back from the doorway, letting Sam skirt past him and away.
Dean glares after him and looks back up at his dad who’s still staring at him.
“What’d you do?”
Dean panics, heart leaping into his throat. “I-I didn’t. We. We-we were, uh.
Wrestling around out there and I shoved Sammy too hard and he spilled some of
his cream soda. I shoulda been more careful, I guess.”
Dad shakes his head, mouth in a firm line. “Dean, you can’t just do whatever
you want wherever you want. You need to learn to respect other people, you hear
me? You’re too old to be acting like this.”
Dean looks down, chastised. His eyes catch on a milky splat of come, probably
from when he pulled out of Sam too fast. He stamps his foot down on top of it
and looks up at his dad, looking maybe a little too apologetic.
“You’re right. I’ll, uh. I’ll go apologize to Buford.”
“Just go wait in the car. I’ll be out in a minute. He’s gettin’ some things
together for me.”
“Yessir.”
Dad glares at him one last time, a little half-heartedly, before he walks away.
Dean grabs a dirty rag from beside the sink and wipes the puddle up, tossing it
into the trash before he practically darts from the room. He glances toward the
bathroom, staring at the closed door for just a second before he makes his way
outside.
He pulls the door closed behind him once he’s in the car, and he lets himself
finally relax even though his heart is still racing. Damnit, Sammy. This is why
he says not in public. This is why he says only when Dad’s not around. This is
why--
The back door behind him creaks open and the car bounces when Sam slides in,
slamming the door closed behind him. Dean sits up, turning toward Sam, about to
lecture him but Sam’s mouth is on him as soon as he turns, kissing him tongue-
first. Dean can’t help but moan and kiss him back, sucking on his wriggling
little tongue and he realizes with a start that he’s tasting himself there, in
Sam’s mouth. His own come. Somehow.
He pulls back, panting again as he meets Sam’s eyes. Sam grins at him, cheeks
still flushed. “Thanks, Dean.”
Dean can’t help but smile back because Sam looks relaxed and soft and fuck,
he’s wearing Dean’s Van Halen shirt. He kisses Sam one more time, a little
softer.
“Always, Sammy.”
End Notes
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